None of my friends have noticed it yet, but you have. You have the ability to read between the lines, to understand that our lives are blighted by this undercurrent of subtext, of narrative significance. Anyone paying attention could have guessed by now who’s really telling this story.

Well, that’s a little melodramatic. Not quite, John. You died the moment you made the decision to go meet your destiny. You would have lived if you made the other decision, under a certain definition of the word “living.” You might have even lived until the end of your immortal life span, as shitty as that sounds.

Only worthless people permit themselves the great luxury of a valorous sacrifice. When the deed is done, what was really lost? It’s like the guy in the mail room quitting in a self-righteous huff. Who the fuck were you again?